


Road to Hades: II

by CadyWimzie



Series: Road to Hades/Hereafter/Helmsmen [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Cartoon Physics, Cartoon logic at some points, Chapter summaries every other chapter, Crime Fighting, Dogs, Flashbacks, Gen, Humor, Mystery, Original Universe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Shapeshifting, in demeanor AND in looks, think 2013 Shield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-09-25 19:15:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17127164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CadyWimzie/pseuds/CadyWimzie
Summary: In theory, The Shield Three are being hunted. By who, they have no idea, but freaky, grotesque creatures and talking animals are showing up on their ever-changing doorstep with incensed grudges against them. They'll inevitably be getting to know Grapple City and its painfully innocent residents on a more personal level as they evade trouble and generally just wind up getting into even more of it.Justice Isn't Freeand all that crap.Oh, and they can shapeshift into dogs whenever they want. Tricking people will be fun.





	1. A Grapple City Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Here we have the first chapter of the second part to Road to Hades! This story won't have a prologue like the first part, but it _will_ have an epilogue if I play my cards right. It will also have more than sixteen chapters.
> 
> The reason I decided to split the story in half is, in part, because the word count was racking up and numbers overwhelm me. It's easier for me to edit things this way, I feel, without watching a fic turn into a giant monster wall of words. The other thing is that we're kind of stepping into different territory with this portion of the story, and, to me, it feels like a different experience altogether. Too different to merely trail on after the events of the first work.
> 
> If you just couldn't get into that story, this one might be more to your liking, since the pace is handled a bit differently. I'm excited to keep writing it! :)

_It was sometime after another, "Where do we go from here?" musing that was met with a tentative silence that the paralyzing uncertainty kicked in; made it difficult to sleep on the eve of a whole new life._

_'What if the plan doesn't work?' was a much better question. Yet, it was never asked, and all that was left to sit with them was the fact that they were of no allegiance anymore, and they owed their loyalty to no one but each other._

 

* * *

 

Focusing this hard was a feat hardly accomplishable at this early an hour.

Dean wasn't even trying yet; he sat to Seth's right on a creaky folding chair and was running a comb through his hair. Simpering goofily at the younger like he was refraining insanely hard from laughing at him. The daylight now coming in through the one opened truck garage door made the room a whole lot less gloomy, and picked up their spirits before they fell too far. The only problem was that they were dealing with the assorted number of hours of sleep they each got differently.

Seth kept his drowsy vision glued to the floor, mustering up the will to shift forms. On an empty stomach, with bleary, crusty-cornered eyes and practically deadened limbs that had gone without blood for at least an hour. He felt more like turning into a rock today.

Just because they spent a day and a half picking up hurried knowledge from those two wild women in the forest didn't mean they knew everything there was to know about this funny dog business. Not yet. The past few days had been spent in seclusion while they figured their mess of a situation out. They did manage to take a trip back to their apartment to grab essential things, though-- and found it to be broken into and trashed. Nothing had been taken, but nothing was as they left it, either. So  _that_  hair-pulling frustration happened.

By this point, they knew it was time to move on up and stop cowering in a run-down building next to the forest. Advance a little. But their most solid plan included their "Canid Forms", as one of their knowledgeable teachers put it. In essence, the half of themselves that was anything but human.

And, Seth found, shifting forms when it was absolutely imperative to do so was probably way easier than just doing it when you  _wanted to_ , solely to exercise the ability. It was still a good idea to practice, though.

"It's probably you," he accused, and pointed straight at Dean, who flinched. "Yeah, I'll bet it is. I can't do squat with this-- not with you staring at me."

"Close your eyes." He smirked at Rollins, further deepening his sneer.

That being jeered, it actually wasn't all that bad of an idea. There were no distractions here, but the level of concentration Seth needed for the transformation was of godlike proportions. Nothing in front of his eyes, and nothing passing through his ears-- save meaningless ambiance. Hell, he was growing tempted to stick some plugs in his nose. Dean really would laugh at him then.

His eyelids fell shut, in no need of a second prompt. He just wanted some release.  _Just give. Give, already!_

"All right, so..." Roman entered right then, rubbing the last of the fatigue out of his eyes and onto his damp cheeks; made damp by rousing, cold tap water. Seth sighed dramatically and his shoulders fell in a defeated slump. "You both know the drill. Don't come back till--" He broke off jaggedly, stopping before them both. He had no clue what either of them were doing, and it showed.

Dean wrenched his arms apart, ceasing work on his curls. His smirk never left. "What? Seth wants to impress Sheldi."

"Gah. I think you got me confused with yourself, Dean."

Roman snorted disdainfully and ducked his head, making a show out of swiping the wetness from his face. "I... can't hope to get how you think this is the face of a man who cares."

"Ha!" Crowing out a mocking laugh helped Seth to wake up, for sure. He didn't even care if Roman was in fact scorning the both of them collectively; taking a jab at Dean's half was worth it!

"' _Face of a man_ ', right, right. Can't wait until I don't hafta look at it anymore. Why don't you go take a spot next to Seth?"

"Why don't you?" Roman countered. He still complied, though; trudging over without complaint and falling into helping Seth as seamlessly as falling into a new gait. He latched onto the younger man's elbow and repositioned it, unfaltering at the little grunt of annoyance it got him for his fussing.

"Huh, yeah! We should be helping each other, for Pete's sake." Seth closed his eyes shortly after the quip, which was something he wouldn't have normally done for high probability of a requite smack to the ribs or stomach that he would have rather kept his eyes open for.

But today wasn't like most others.

"Get pissed," Dean suggested. The chair scraped the concrete floor as he stood up from it. "It worked for me 'fore I even knew about it."

Roman sighed heavily through what sounded like a thorough shaking of the head. "That doesn't sound... even  _slightly_  healthy. There's triggers, and then there's willful transformation. Were you not listening, Dean?"

"Ohhh! We've got an expert in the house! Roman's an expert, Seth."

"Heey, guess what? I  _am_  pissed now, and it's still not working!" The sound Seth's boot made when it scuffed across the floor resonated through the room. Wide and musty and vacant, and, most recently, occupied by three very hapless and confused dudes clad in all black. "There you go, all right? Is there any point in trying right now if we're not actually gonna  _try_?"

It felt to him as if he broke the flow of speech. Literally broke it. He still ceased to open his eyes. All he heard was the shuffling of pant legs and the soles of boots on the floor in the foreground. Chirping birds farther out. A car honking. Roman's warm presence was no longer bearing down on him; the big man moved away, and he had nothing to say before or after doing so.

 _Picture it? Wish it? Picture it_ while _wishing it?_  Seth had no time for dwelling on just how dumb this was. He thought back instead; those whiskey-brown eyes swirling on the surface of the stream back in Sapling Forest; that quick, fanning tail, and the sun on his back. The relief he felt to be human again, no matter how counterproductive it seemed. Every thought and emotion and physical sensation connected to the experience, in as much detail as he would need to glean to write a five-thousand word essay on it. Firsthand recounts were allowed to be as long as they liked, surely?

Turning into this...  _other_  form was just the same as reverting back to a man, but in reverse. His feet were being pushed out from underneath him in slow motion. His face and his backside both tingled in that pins-and-needles sort of way, and his spine was twisting-- reconstructing itself, or else locking into a different position that was less up-and-down and more front-to-back-- in a way that was somehow entirely devoid of pain.

The only thing that hurt was the sharp pinpricks under his nails, on fingers and toes. It was pinchy at first, and then downright stabby. Fuzzy fur grew around his eyes before he could vocalize his discontent about the unpleasant feeling, and-

Oh, right. Eyes were open now.

"Hey, you did it," Dean casually said.

"I did?" Seth looked around the garage from an entirely different perspective now. Several feet shorter, his head about at level with Roman's thigh. The older man wasn't currently lined up perfectly beside him, but it was still a good judge of height.

Dean didn't answer. It took Seth a moment to remember that he couldn't be understood while like this-- not even by his two partners.

"You're an authentic mutt, Seth." The scrappy guy got down on the floor across from him. His eyes were overshadowed and his smile was wry. Very Dean-esque, except that the usual confidence that rolled off of him in ample waves was gone, and left only was weariness. Was Dean always this tired?

He didn't even necessarily  _look_  tired; Seth could just feel that he was.

Experimentation commenced. He looked up at Roman to take in his face as well, wondering if he could get a different read. _He_ was unabashedly exhausted, too, and, additionally, not trying nearly as hard as Dean was to hide it. But there was something else about him...

Sneaking doubt. In what, Seth didn't know. He would have initially thought for the uncertain road ahead of them. It had promise to be a long, winding one, and nothing was certain for the three of them. Nothing was assured. 

What Roman was  _not_  doing the same as Dean was covering said emotions his face was betraying him by showing with a fake complacency. He looked slightly past Seth, with an extremely potent air of seriousness. So no drastic difference this go-around, basically, since Roman was nearly  _always_  serious.

This time, when Seth's voice came out in a meek, tuneless whine, he meant for it to. He wasn't saying anything; he had a whole plethora of noises at his disposal, and he was somehow able to match up each one accordingly, knowing innately when he was supposed to use them and when to just shut up and can it.

_But how?_

"Don't gimme that, whelp. Lemme see you," Dean gruffly said, with arms extended out to him.

In very little time, he got his wish, having Seth plod up to him sounding clicks on the floor with the same claws that had hurt so much to manifest. They  _still_  felt a little tender.

"This is... nuts!" His warm hands sunk into the fur on either side of Seth's face, holding his head still and looking him over.

"Now it's our turn," Roman chimed, hardly sharing in his bemused wonder.

"Hold on." The hands slid away from Seth's cheeks and gently met in the middle, cupping his chin. "I wanna give him something to bite down on. Whoever's got the highest number of pounds worth of pressure is top dog."

Seth chuckled and shimmied halfheartedly out of his hold. His tail was already going. "You're top idiot." He lowered his head and a good portion of his thin-limbed, shaggy upper body in a play bow. Roman's sobering silence off to the side kept him from really getting into it, though.

Their eldest turned his head a fraction of an inch-- just enough to pierce Dean with a look meaning business. Eyelids lifting to reveal more sclera in his eyes, and left shoulder winding. Jaw clenching.

"I hate to agree with you, Dean," he deeply said. His tone didn't match the expression on his face; sort of amiable. It made his mouth curve up in the first smile he was unable to help that day. "But, first thing's first, we've got an objective to follow through to. I don't gotta repeat myself, do I?"

"Actually," Dean responded in his usual gravel, side-eyeing Roman quizzically, "I don't think you got all of it out the first time."

"Jobs. I was gonna say we need jobs." He seemed to be battling back another smile at Dean's over-the-top lean backwards and accompanying eye roll. They both quickly took their attention off of a now-canine Seth Rollins and retreated to their own secluded corners to concentrate.

"...and don't come back until you have one."

 

* * *

 

_1\. Imagine yourself looking through the eyes of just such an animal. Consider how your society views them and respond accordingly to the setting you're in. You certainly wouldn't want to make yourself look like you're a dog if you're standing in a room with a man who's notorious for kicking them._

_2\. In the same breath, I will fervently caution that letting someone see you shift is just as dangerous as any one wrong person seeing you in strictly one form or the other is. Don't let anyone see you change to or from dog. You must find a safe place with no eyes on you before you even so much as make an attempt._

Dean had been sure that there were more rules than just those from the notes their 'teachers' gave them, but those were the only two that concerned him at the moment. He was walking up Rude Street to meet a rapidly approaching bus stop.

He was draped by his unzipped leather jacket to take the chill off, with hair combed back and dark wash jeans untorn. Looking normal while he was like this-- terra firma and vibes like that-- was very important, if just for sanity's sake. Having another body to escape to made the option of leaving an ungroomed mess behind a tempting one, but Dean was certain he'd thank himself later.

His muscles had had time to rest while dormant. After flexing those 'shifting' ones back at the garage and going full dog for about five good minutes, Roman suggested they switch back and assume their everyday guises. A good practice in timing, and (mostly) ultimate access to most things until an opportunity came up to make the  _right_  people believe that they were hounds. By good teacher Maya Holton's recommendations, that was.

After all, an ordinary dude on the street could go and buy himself a meal. A dog could not.

Sun rays leaked over and between the skyscrapers obstructing heat from the city slickers. It phased in and out because of the clouds. The beginning of spring in this grimy metropolis was always so unpredictable for abrupt overdose of warmth or lack thereof. Dean passed a few people while crossing the intersection who were dressed in varying levels of early precaution; a slim woman wore a tank top and shorts to match, while another had on pants and a coat zipped up for winter.

Those two regrouped on the corner he just came from. There was a guy on the next one wearing earmuffs and looking sort of pathetic. Dean stopped there in the throng of actively moving people, hands on his hips, assessing where he was and where to go next in that, 'I'm on foot; I don't have a car,' kind of way, when loud, whistling sirens suddenly caught his ear, coming from the direction his back was to.

It was getting closer and closer. It was backed up by the urgent horn of a fire truck, beeping to let all vehicles on the right side of the street know to fall astride. An emergency. Dean paid close attention to the people surrounding him and how they watched. When he noticed how conspicuously poised his body was, he tried to loosen up, but he still avoided facing the curb.

Finally the daylight glittered on the sleek, black paint of the patrol car barreling past, blue-red-and-white lights flashing. The bold white letters on the side reading "GCPD", and the gold badge pictured next to it. Dean let himself look when the red of the tailing fire truck's flank became visible in his periphery. The two vehicles zoomed to the next intersection and made a right turn, quickly disappearing from sight behind a tall office building.

He made up his mind on a whim and so had no interest in finding out the reason behind why every pedestrian waiting on the light chuckled and shared knowing looks with each other. He picked his way out of their midst and onto the sidewalk to reassume his trek-- this time with a destination in mind.

The goal was to follow the truck's howl to wherever it was headed, and quickly, before he lost it. He broke into a gait one iota short of a sprint, hurrying to get to where he needed to be.


	2. Shrapnel in Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of the boys scour the city for individual pursuits to keep their "Canid-selves" busy.

Dean was slipping through crowds in masterful avoidance of grazing, feet moving fast, and arms glued to his sides. Sticking close to shop exteriors, mostly, until he saw the urgently flashing colors for longer than a second turning a corner at the same time he was. He leaned that way, disregarding his earlier tact by breaking into an uninhibited jog to catch up. 

By the time he reached the next intersection, he was looking both ways in a truly theatrical show, hand over his chest and head on a swivel. He didn't have to scope for long, because dead ahead lied the yellow tape and flashing lights of the restricted area he had been looking for. Around a particular building many emergency vehicles were parked, including a black van marked 'K-9' on the side of it.

Civilians still skirted the motionless street as what was normal. They maintained a wide berth, and Dean was game to join them. He slipped into the crowd, which wasn't too tough since he was already apart of it. He watched officers leave their vehicles, speaking to each other in earnest strategy. He saw dudes with the heavy artillery and body armor leave the cover of their vans and create a uniform line heading into the building-- a tall bistro.

The van doors were opened and a man led a revved up German Shepherd out of it, straining against its leash as it waited for instruction. Told to sit, it did so diligently, resisting a once-over of the street and staring straight ahead in determined quiet.

Dean kept one eye on all of that; even as he maneuvered his way inside a ground floor parking lot that the street provided a ramp into, letting himself be grabbed by shadow as he stepped behind the concrete window that looked out on the sidewalk and watched through the obstructing bars. His dark clothes gave him an advantage, as usual.

A man's voice on a megaphone blared across the block, ringing in Dean's ears. He couldn't make out what was being said, but, then again, all the times he had ever heard it, he had made a point of tuning it out.

The police of Grapple City did little else besides enlarge situations that could have otherwise been discreet, _grate on his nerves_ , and spoil more than a few surprises with their snooping. Dean couldn't stand them.

Yet...

In the middle of the loud commotion; officers reining in their dogs and general public place chatter, he heard someone... A voice he heard better than the guy on the megaphone. Too recognizable to ignore, and so everything else got sifted out.

Weird dog sense. What could Dean say?

The man was walking along the curb, talking on his personal phone. Sorta fat, with thinning hair and an impressively engaged look on his face. Not very threatening at all-- except he wore the classic outfit belonging to a GCPD police sergeant. All the hallmarks. A trigger for a collarbone rubdown, if Dean ever saw one.

It would have to wait.

"Lea, I'll call ya back," the old man-- Harmon, as Dean knew him-- said. "The guy's about to come out of the building."

He wasn't wrong, either. The SWAT team came back out surprisingly fast, escorting a seedy-looking dude from the bistro and out into the street, where he was apprehended. A job well-done was what it _almost_ looked like. A miscount was what it truly _was_ , because out from under the shade of the patio beside the restaurant, another man strode. Undetected for all of three seconds, before the man in the clutches of the SWAT screamed out and all hands on deck started to attention.

It was a mess of yelling and weapon pointing. Dean wasn't stopping to make sure the guy dropped his gun like they were telling him to do, because he had already made up his mind about where  _he_ stood in this situation. It was a distraction-free zone that wasn't taking any further questions or additional comments... and, when a proper plan was put into motion, it was like jumping through an almost-literal window into a new world where no one knew him; had zero expectations of how he should have been. So incredibly liberating.

He was a dog again, weightlessly darting out into the unconventionally unsafe street with a purpose in mind. That purpose entailed gunning for the heels of the formerly captured man who had been let go of once the more prominent threat of the armed man came along.

Under the din of voices shouting their sudden and very-much-warranted confusion at his presence, Dean ran up. Swiftly thought back to that time he took down his former boss in the parking lot with a similar tackle and _went for it_. Cool air breezed past his cheeks and shoulders as he left the ground and scaled nothing, coming within biting distance of the dude's legs and choosing to climb him like a tree instead. Not so much different than tackling someone as a human, by that merit.

He pressed all his weight down and rode out the quick descent to the cold, hard ground, practically sitting on the slimeball's spine by this point. Not even hearing him until the commotion died down and his tall ears could pinpoint individually-made noise again.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will..."

"Okay, uh, where- where did this animal come from?" Harmon spoke over the distancing sound of the faceless officer reading the disarmed man his rights. Dean heard a pathetic whimper underneath his paws and looked down, taking in the quivering, taut muscles of the less-threatening man and his hesitation to move even an inch with a sharp-toothed animal bearing down on him.

Was there a form he could inhabit where people  _weren't_ afraid of him? He never wanted to find it!

"I think the dog came out of the parking garage, Sir." Dean suddenly felt a hand on the back of his neck, running through the untouched fur there. A hum escaped the person above him in time with the touching ceasing. "Young dog. No older than two."

"Why's that important?" asked Harmon.

"I mean, he's so well-kept-- filled out and _strong_." A persistent arm wrapped up Dean's neck from behind and pulled him back. Something he allowed despite the cautionary tentative movements that set him on edge. He was safely removed from the guy's back and turned out onto the asphalt, while Harmon yanked the slimy guy up off the ground. "But no collar marks, as you can see. Someone's been taking good care of him, regardless."

"I could'a figured that one out, Kirst," Harmon said in a joking tone of voice. Dean looked up at the two of them questionably, but his eyes ghosted over another pair that he found to be  _burning_ into him; those of the German Shepherd who was close by, still sitting obediently but pretty much perfectly glaring at Dean, like he just committed some kind of offense.

"Yeah, we oughta find his handler. I'm sure he's chipped." The man Harmon called 'Kirst' crouched down in the middle of the street to get a better look at him, ignoring the many sets of eyes squinting at his back as people passed him by. He had a kind face that didn't mirror Dean's in the _slightest_ , but under this kind of guise, that hardly mattered. 

Dean had a positive feeling about him. Like he was a ticket to better things, or a gateway into a proper, respectable job. He got the sense his search was already over.

 

* * *

  

Seth was _pretty sure_ he was in the right kind of neighborhood. The houses he passed got nicer with every step-- which wasn't at all what he was accustomed to, granted, but folks here looked less likely to board up their windows to prevent unwanted dog attention. 

 _How the roles have been reversed,_ he couldn't help but think, sagely. It was possible there was some kind of profound revelation in the works, but Seth sorely doubted it. That wasn't the kind of attention he needed to be paying to his mind at this time, and he certainly wasn't looking forward to it if such attention was inevitable. Self-improvement? Bah.

It wasn't like anything was actually _wrong_. He had two brothers to make his life about and a shapeshifting problem to work through; normal life and home structuring right there. He honestly wasn't even worried, even _if_ Roman threatened to not let him back into the truck garage unless he had good news when he got back.

But what even counted as 'good news'? Did _Roman_ even have a clear idea? They talked it over before they got back into the city; toss-up concepts of joining the troupe of dogs that run around with the police or perform tricks in exchange for food and a place to sleep. Something that kept them on their toes. Simultaneously duping and keeping busy, essentially. Obviously it _sounded_ simpler than it was, and Seth hadn't even been at it for very long.

Maybe he was looking for someone who was... understanding? Possibly even to a _fault_. That served as an explanation for why he was on the edge of a residential area that had a playground on every corner; wind chimes hanging from scaffolding and lawn mowers groaning from unseen distances.  People strolled by with their dogs on leashes. Maybe he had a better chance of finding what he was looking for if he was already freshly shifted and dog-looking. But on top of needing to wait until he was completely alone to do that, he just... couldn't get comfortable with the plan, no matter how much he psyched himself up?

The thought of being in the public eye like that made him antsy. He was nearly too embarrassed to admit it to _himself_ , so... yeah, there was no telling his brothers. He wondered briefly if either of them felt the same way, but figured that if they did, they wouldn't admit to it either. So much for reassurance.

In the end he pushed himself to do it, because he couldn't see it happening any other way. A subtle, albeit careful swerve around somebody's parked car, stepping off the curb with a boot and then reaccessing it with a paw, letting the vehicles aid him in cover until it appeared as though he was never there. A seamless shift he was quite proud of. _  
_

Maybe his body and mind _both_ sensed the need this time. _He_ certainly wasn't taking 'no' for an answer, and that was enough.

He broke into a run down the sidewalk uncharted after that. It took him to a much busier street that was framed by expensive, suburban-looking homes. He tore off one way and ran alongside cars rushing in the opposite direction he was going, steadily approaching a large stretch of grassy park across the intersection that fenced in a baseball diamond.

His paw pads were cold, but everything else was marvelous. The ventilation in this fur was _made_ for gloomy, bitey weather. The occurring thought made him look up at the sky by the time he reached the chain link fence behind the park bleachers, standing still and serene as he waved his duster tail and observed the grayscale blanket overhead. A raindrop hit his nose, but he smelled the promise of rain-- stronger and in more detail than he had ever been capable-- long before that had to happen.

A mixed bag of cheering voices erupted on the other side of the bleachers. The diamond was in use, but Seth got the sense that it was the final play (Play? Was that right? The concept of baseball was admittedly a little fuzzy to him), because the shadows of feet moving for the stairs could be seen between the steps as the crowd dispersed. The game was done.

He strolled alongside the chain link until he found an opening into the park. People were already on their way out, but some kid players straggled on the field. What little attention was paid to Seth by the attendees and players who were leaving included passing smiles and the occasional doting coo, the latter of which he couldn't say he understood all that well; they barely _knew him_.

A weak pat to the shoulder startled him and made his head snap around, locking eyes with a _very_ small child standing closer than what brought comfort to him. An adult swooped in and coaxed them along, and Seth watched them go, finding it especially hard to cope with the fact that he wasn't much taller than that toddler in _this_ body.

 _What kind of trouble am I signing myself up for? This_ is _nuts!_

As the mob of exiting people thinned, Seth saw another, _lone_ person walking up. A man with short, neat brown hair. He had on an officer's uniform that sported handcuffs and a gun. He was looking right at Seth, to further highlight.

"Huh." He approached, and Seth decided this was better than some handsy little kid... so he sniffed the hand that was offered to him, hoping the inquisitive glint in his eyes was apparent to this guy even though revealing to him exactly _what_ he was was a big no-no. "Who're you, huh? You came outta nowhere."

Seth couldn't help but think the same of him. The cop's skin smelled like a scent of soap he was vaguely familiar with, but everything else about him was entirely foreign.

"If nothing happened," chimed a new voice, breaking Seth's concentration on trying to get a read on this man's face, "we can leave soon, right? ...Dad?"

A teenaged kid sauntered up the path and poked his head out from behind the man. His hair was dark brown and mop-like. His face fell ever so slightly when he caught sight of Seth, though.

"Where'd the dog come from?"

"Oh, good-- you noticed, too." His father didn't look up and moved his hand above Seth's eyes. His four fingers massaged the back of his furry head while his thumb stroked just between his brows, and Seth, for the life of him, didn't know how to take it. He remained stock still while the two conversed. "No one here brought a dog, and then this guy shows up right after the game ends? That's kinda weird."

"He's... not bony or anything. He doesn't look like a stray. You sure no one brought a dog with?"

"I'm sure." The smallest of smiles graced the officer's features. Seth had to admit the unearned stroking felt good. "Ha, you see his eyes? So pretty; same color as Cozbie's. He reminds me a lot of Cozbie."

" _No dog_ reminds me of Cozbie," the teenager said, with a fair amount of bitterness in his voice. Seth scanned his posture and couldn't help but feel like it was holding tension. "Well, are we gonna go home soon? The game was too loud for me to do my homework by."

"Yeah, soon. Why don't you stay with this fella while I do one last look around? Everything seems fine, but I need to take some notes for tomorrow." He pulled his hand back and Seth was surprised to find that he missed it. His son's shoulders sagged at the request, but he made no exclamation of protest and opted to sit in the sheared grass beside the path.

The darker region of the sky lit up for a brief moment, and a menacing rumble followed. The impatient kid huffed and looked after his retreating parent, saying dryly, "No rush."

Seth found himself agreeing with the logic behind his sarcasm.


End file.
